Captain Morgan 3 (Patreon)

The Adventures of Captain Morgan 3

Morgan Olsen

I may have miscalculated.

I drank like a fish in my old life. Beer was just another flavor of water. Rum was what I drank to keep a happy buzz. I could easily take a few shots, go all night, then come back for more. My ideal hangover cure was another shot of rum.

In my old life.

At the moment, I was twelve, with none of the hard-earned alcohol tolerance I’d developed over years of practice. Which was to say, that swig of rum hit me like a blackjack. The two other gulps that followed probably didn’t help either. It was the brick that broke the camel’s back. I’d been drinking before and those last few tipped me over.

I swayed back, hitting the wall as the world swam around me. It was delicious, a wonderful breath of boozy, fresh air to reinforce my heart for the shitshow that was now my life. It was sweet, complex, with a good bit of that fragrant, honey note that I loved so much.

I blinked.

Then I blinked again.

And then some more, until the world stopped spinning.

“Alright, I’m good,” I said finally, hiccupping a little. I looked carefully at the bottle, then down at my new pet. “Woah, that’s strong.”

“Maybe you should stop taking swigs of it then,” he said pointedly.

“Me? Naw, bun-bun. I need to build up my toler–hick–tolerance, ya know?”

“You really don’t.”

I brought the bottle to my lips again. I was starting to slur a bit now. “D-Don’t bein’ a Star Pirate get me–hick–healing and stuffs?”

“Star Guardian. And it’s not supposed to be used this way!”

“I ‘unno, lil guy. F-First Star says oth–hick–otherwise.”

“You know what? Fine. Whatever. You’re in uniform now. Just… Just touch your magic. Bring it out.”

“Sure,” I slurred, “but how come youse spinning?”

“I’m not spinning, you idiot. You’re plastered.”

“Yesh you are… You’re tipsy–hic–Heh, that’s a good name for a b-bunny… Tipsy…”

“No, it’s not. My name is Calico Jack,” he said patiently.

“Tipsy. I’mma call youse Tipsy now. Tipsy Jack, mascot o’ Capt’n Morgan.”

“I’m sorry, First Star, ma’am. Whatever I did to deserve this, I apologize…” I heard him mumble. He was great. Adorable. Not a parrot, but still pretty great. He took a deep, fortifying breath, and he said he wasn’t tipsy, then looked up at me. “Alright, let’s try this again. Look inward or something. Magic is already in you. It’s in your soul. You just need to draw it out.”

Something about what he said cut through the drunken stupor. Magic was… in my soul. It was my soul. Everyone knew that the First Star was the source of life, of existence. Which meant she was the patron of booze too.

I felt a warmth bloom in my chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol. It was soothing and warm, like the heat of fine whiskey. Which reminded me…

I raised the gourd to my lips again. Before I could take another swig, Tipsy jumped up and kicked the bottle out of my hand.

“Hey, what was that for?” I complained.

“No. You’re not drinking anymore until you figure out how to sense your magi–” he started to say, only for his mouth to fall slack as the gourd teleported back to my hand in a flash of azure light.

“Oh,” I giggled. “I can do that? Sweet!”

“Why me… Morgan, concentrate! You obviously just used magic! Focus and think about what you just did!”

“Oh, alright… Lessee…”

I took another drink and felt the warmth in my chest bloom. It became almost uncomfortable, a sensation that was just south of burning. Then, like a cork being popped or a fresh cask being tapped, I let go.

A tide of power surged through me. It felt like my entire body was being electrocuted, with a pins and needles feeling that left me alert and hyper-aware rather than paralyzed. Looking down at my hands, I saw my body clad in a fiery, blue glow. My axes, still looped to my sash, shone brighter than the rest of me, as if begging to be wielded.

To Tipsy’s relief, I hung my gourd back on my hip and reached for my weapons. The moment they touched my hands, I understood what he meant. Knowledge flooded through me, instincts that were so familiar yet not my own. The axes practically jumped to my hands, like overeager puppies greeting their master.

It was time to see what this Star Pirate business was all about.

I kicked myself off the wall, and promptly lost my balance. I flailed my arms, windmilling with glowing, blue axes in hand. They surged with power, launching blades of light in a chaotic pattern that was almost impossible to predict. I would know; I had no clue where I was swinging either.

When I caught myself, it was just barely fast enough to keep me from faceplanting ito the roof. Swaying drunkenly, I stood up straight, only to overcompensate and lean back too far. I raised my arms to balance myself, and my axes came with them, slashing the air in front of me with deadly force.

“Pretty colors,” I grinned happily. This was kinda fun after all.

I “practiced” like this for several hours. I swayed side to side, feeling like a daring, swashbuckling pirate captain on board his ship. The world could rise and dip like a boat in a storm but nothing could keep me down.

I almost lost my balance with every step, but caught myself each time, turning the tumble into an unexpected slash. If anything, seeming lack of balance only allowed me to put my full weight behind each swing.

Even in my drunken stupor, I could tell I was better than I was yesterday. Booze was like magic. It was liquid courage, the perfect social lubricant. And, in my case, it was literally magic. Whenever I paused to take another swig, I could feel the fire in my body, begging to be uncorked and let out. My rum was condensed mana and I couldn’t be happier.

The more I drank, the more magic flowed through my veins and empowered my axes. And the more magic I had, the faster, stronger I became.

X

“By the power of moonshine, Star Pirate Captain Morgan will fucking kill you!” I roared as I rocketed down a nearby flagpole towards the voidlings terrorizing the mall.

Turned out, there was no way to get rid of my sparkly callout. I could, however, change it with some effort.

Was I overcompensating? Shut the fuck up.

I took out my frustrations on the convenient void creatures. Halfway to the ground, I hurled one ax. It turned into a blue blur that bisected the voidling before its handle bounced against the curb, jumping back up towards me. I snagged it out of the air and landed in a crouch before turning that momentum into a spinning slash that sundered everything in my immediate vicinity.

I hadn’t meant to do that. I’d meant to land, cut up everything, then go retrieve my ax. It was pure luck that the ax happened to hit the curb at just the right angle to bounce towards me. It had even matched the distance I’d fallen to land perfectly in my hand.

I’d been doing this for two weeks now and this was a fairly common occurrence. Each time I tripped, it was because there was a monster trying to bite my head off. When I over-reached, it was because the voidling had chosen to backstep instead of commit.

Except, I wasn’t that good. I wasn’t just a drunkard. I was a lucky drunkard. I’d long since learned to go with the flow, obey the instincts and proddings of probability. No matter how outrageous the tumble, I always found myself swaying on my own two feet.

There was a strange, mantis-like voidling today. It was as tall as two grown men and seemed to be leading the smaller, spider-like voidlings. Thankfully, the only similarity it shared with Kha’Zix were its scythe-like claws. I wasn’t sure if the Voidreaver was a thing here in this skewed alternate universe, but I had no doubt that if he was, he’d be a named character, one of the Big Bads. I wasn’t ready for that.

The mantis lacked the spark of intelligence in its eyes to mark it as a true Void Champion. Though it was the biggest I’d faced so far, that meant I had good odds of winning.

Two spiders leapt for my throat as I rose, only for me to sway backwards, their claws missing me by inches. Too much rum and too quick a rise left me feeling a bit tipsy.

I grinned as I allowed instinct to take over. One ax rose to bisect both, leaving a trail of blue starlight that evaporated their viscera. My other hand flipped my hatchet into the air. It spun and stuck itself into the flagpole, freeing up my hand so I could pull out my gourd and take a fortifying drink.

“It’s a Star Guardian!” some kid shouted. “We’re saved!”

“Yeah, but why does ours have to be such a lush?” someone else bitched. “I mean, is he even old enough to drink?”

“You know they’re immortal. Imagine, being stuck like that for the rest of eternity and getting thrown into one battlefield after another,” a third person cooed sympathetically. “You can’t blame the poor dear for finding an outlet.”

“Sure, but why in the middle of a fi–”

“You leave my booze out of this!” I shouted, throwing an ax his way. It spun in the air, nailing a voidling that had been sneaking up on him. “And fuc–hic–you! I”m a Star Pirate!”

I leapt towards the largest cluster of spiders, trusting that my ax would find its way to me. Sure enough, it cleaved the voidling’s skull, clipped a car’s side mirror with its handle, and bounced its way back into my hand, just in time for me to begin slaughtering the mooks.

It was magical girl tradition or something. All the mooks needed to die before the week’s big bad decided to fight. Now that I thought about it, Power Rangers did that too, probably because civilians were too stupid to run from the spectacle.

No one told this mantis that because it saw nothing wrong with rushing me down. It even trampled and skewered some of its lesser brethren. It brought its twin scythes in a scissoring cleave that I only managed to dodge because I tripped on a dead spider’s cylindrical leg. It had just started to dissolve into nonexistence, throwing off my footing even more.

I landed hard on my back as the mantis’ scythes sailed over my face. Curling my knees over my head, I was about to kick myself back onto my feet but the mantis was faster. One scythe struck down at my head but its vision must have been obscured by my legs because it missed my ear by a hair’s breadth.

Taking the chance, I hooked the beard of axes against the scythe. By pulling like a lever, I could lock the limb between my weapons and the ground, if only for a moment. From there, I kicked off while bracing against the mantis’ limb.

I twisted my torso to avoid the second scythe. In turn, that put tremendous pressure on the axes, and its trapped limb. With a sound like broken glass and a tortured shriek of agony, its trapped scythe shattered, its fragments dissipating into nonexistence.

Skipping back to my feet, I took another swig of rum while my opponent reeled in pain. The warmth of my magic, booze magic, settled in my chest, urging me onward.

I went on the attack. The little, spider-like voidlings were no threat to me now. I’d quickly gotten the hang of reinforcing my body with magic, making me even more durable than the basic protections provided by my transformation. It was one of the only two tricks I could do with my magic so I’d better be damn good at it.

I swung like a madman, cleaving the air and sending blades of azure starlight every which way. Each slash ripped the spiders in two, and whenever the light touched, the creatures of the void dissipated that much faster.

My fighting style, if it could be called that, was uniquely suited to fighting many opponents at once. I was unpredictable, to the point that even I didn’t always know what I’d do next. It left my enemies reeling, chasing an opponent who was never quite where they expected me to be.

Soon, I was left with only the maimed mantis. It stared me down with a baleful glare, hatred against all of existence in its manifold eyes.

I did not falter. Even as recently as a week ago, I would have balked against such a creature, but I was different now. I still hated this job, booze was really its sole selling point, but I was needed.

It was amazing how much that one truth could change in a man. Valoran City needed me, a drunk, layabout gamer who had no accomplishments or dreams in life. I didn’t know where the fuck Lux was, but she wasn’t here. Until she arrived, someone else needed to stand in her spot. I wasn’t the hopeful, glittering ray of sunshine she was, but maybe I could keep this seat warm.

Then, I’d retire with my pension plan of immortality and infinite booze.

That’d be nice.

 I dodged a few more sloppy swings with a lazy smirk on my face. The mantis had only one arm now, but it was still plenty dangerous. My presence, or more specifically the Light inside of me, was the only thing keeping it from ripping the bystanders to shreds.

I ought to end things before the cops finished evacuating everyone. The Star Guardians had an exalted place in society, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t make trouble for me, for the drinking if nothing else.

“Tipsy!” I shouted, calling for my rabbit.

“It’s Calico Jack, you Star-damned asshole!” he shouted back as he dashed towards me. He weaved through the gawking bystanders and leapt over a police car, sparkles of white and blue trailing beneath his feet.

“Whatever. Let’s–hic–get this over with. I need a drink.”

“You’re always drinking! Literally anyone else would have died of liver failure! Why the hell are you always drinking?”

“Magic! Now come on!” I yelled.

I crossed my axes as power gathered between them. Every magical girl needed a super move, that finisher that she used at the end of every episode, right? Even if “she” was a “he.”

It was a move I developed after about a week. I realized that Tipsy could do so much more than just look cute and nag me about my drinking hobby, because it wasn’t a problem.

After all, Star Guardian Jinx’s mascots transformed into her guns. Seraphine’s two minions acted as loudspeakers and backup singers for her. Syndra’s became the black balls she threw around like candy. It wasn’t always the case, but in general, the mascots were also their weapons.

If that was true, then why did I have two axes? And a gourd? Why were they independent of Tipsy? They shouldn’t be. They should be one and the same, right?

Tipsy leapt onto my shoulder, then my crossed axes. He vanished into the weapon as a corona of blue light surrounded me. Behind me, a tidal wave formed, befitting of Captain Morgan, the magnificent Star Pirate. The wave of light surged forward, crashing into my back, but I stood firm.

I took that abundance of light and focused it between my axes. There, it formed a single, bunny-shaped crystal as the magic of the First Star altered reality itself. It wasn’t until I first used this move that I realized just how literal Tipsy was being when he called himself my “Star Conduit.”

“Spirit of Ardor: Moonshine!” I roared.

All of that condensed starlight had to go somewhere. Maybe a giant, fuck-you beam was the most cliche finisher a person could have, but cliches were cliches for a reason. Watching the blue laser beam vaporize the mantis sure was satisfying.

It made me want to try my hand at making moonshine.

Author’s Note

Have a snippet.

Yeah, I’m not sure about this. Morgan’s entire character can be summed up as “drunk guy simps for Ahri.” He’s probably the dumbest MC I’ve written, and I’ve written Blake Isley, Arceus’ bitch.